


Monophobia

by celestialskiff



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kira's resistance cell, Occupation of Bajor, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:43:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>At night, she could only remember the things that set her teeth on edge, the things that made her long to press into a warm, friendly body...</i> Set in season one. Kira has never had a room of her own before, and she's struggling to adjust to all that silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monophobia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commoncomitatus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commoncomitatus/gifts).



Nerys always woke with her mind clear. She didn't feel disorientated or uncertain of where she was. In the resistance, she'd grown used to working out the fastest escape route before she feel asleep: now, on Deep Space 9, she woke with her eyes on the door. 

She'd been asleep for two hours. Her limbs were heavy, her joints sore, but her heart beat too quickly, and she didn't feel sleepy at all. She leant back against the rough Cardassian pillows, the ones the humans complained about, and went over her escape route in her mind. She knew the quickest way to the shuttle bay with the main power online, and the quickest way if the turbo lifts weren't working. 

She repeated the steps over and over in her mind. It didn't calm her down. 

She was listening, she realised, for Furel's breathing, the familiar rasp on the in-breath. She missed the way Lupaza smelled, and the way she talked, sometimes, in her sleeps. Nonsensical phrases, distant words from dreams. She even missed Shakaar with a head cold: his long snores followed by a gasp. She'd grown so used to them, warm bodies ranged around her, their sighs following her through sleep. 

And she'd grown to hate them. Lupaza was impossible to wake up, groaning and rolling into the heat created by Nerys's body. Furel, on the other hand, woke too early, and whistled while he cleaned phasers. They all asked her questions when she wanted to think, sang songs together when she wanted to sleep, gave her advice when she wanted to be left alone. 

At least, she'd thought, waiting for the shuttle to bring her to Deep Space Nine, she'd get five minutes on her own when she was up there. 

The room was so quiet. It smelt all wrong: it didn't smell of anything other than cleaning products and a hot, bitter scent that came through the heating vents. She didn't want to be left along with her thoughts: she'd never known how horrible her thoughts could be. It was as though her memories of mountain-tops in starlight, of wild deer wandering through a glade, of a quiet Vedek teaching her the words of the Prophets were gone entirely. At night, she could only remember the things that set her teeth on edge, the things that made her long to press into a warm, friendly body, to hear a ragged snore close by, or an old friend fart in the dark. 

Nerys dressed quickly. Suddenly she couldn't stand to be alone any more, she couldn't stand the narrow, empty bed, she couldn't stand the feeling of her limbs. She couldn't listen, any more, to that silence. 

The station was quiet. The shrine was open, but empty, and though Nerys sat and looked at the prayer wheel, she couldn't quiet her mind enough to meditate. She imagined Lupaza sitting next to her, eyes half-closed, murmuring, “I can never concentrate like you, Nerys,” but that just made her feel more alone. 

She saw Dax at the deserted replimat, a blue coffee mug clasped in one hand. “There you are,” she said when she approached her, as though she'd been looking for her. 

Dax started slightly at the sound of her voice. “What are you doing up at this hour?” 

Nerys took the chair across from her. If she could have chosen any person in the universe to see right now, it wouldn't be Dax. She wanted someone she'd known for years, someone who wouldn't ask questions, someone who'd shared a blanket with her, who'd seen her after four weeks without a shower. But of the people available on the station, Dax was her first choice. She said, “What are you doing up?” 

Dax yawned. “I have to observe a comet. It's passing in visual range in about half an hour. I've got all I really need from long range scans, but I thought I should see it, too.” She sighed. “Now I've actually dragged myself up, it doesn't seem like such a good idea.” 

Nerys knew the names of the two comets the regularly orbited Bajor, but that was the extent of her expertise. Part of her wanted to have something clever to say—something precise and cogent. She'd never learnt about stars; she hadn't had schooling in anything other than revolutionary tactics beyond the age of twelve. She didn't really want to know about stars either, it seemed so extraneous, but she wanted to be able to keep up with the Starfleet types. She didn't want them to start thinking they were cleverer than Bajorans just because she set a bad example. 

Dax was watching her. “You couldn't sleep? Would you like some tea?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Raktajino. That won't help you settle down, I promise.” 

“Klingon coffee, right? You're always drinking it, but I haven't tried it yet. Will you get me one?” 

“Are you sure? It's got a kick, especially when you're not used to it.”

“I'm sure.” 

Dax brought her the mug from the replicator. It was very hot, steam curling from the brim. Nerys sipped. It was hot enough to scald the tongue, but she liked that. A hot drink still seemed like such a luxury. It hadn't always been safe to build a fire, and she'd daydreamed about hot tea. Hot water, even. The taste, though, was something else entirely. “I think it's worse than regular coffee.” 

“It's an acquired taste. I could get you something else?”

“I can handle it.” Nerys curled her hands around the cup. “I kind of like it, it feels like it's fighting me.”

“And you can never back down from a challenge.” 

Nerys met her gaze over their mugs. “One sinoraptor knows another.” 

“What?”

“A Bajoran saying. You know, two of the same creature can spot each other.” 

“Oh. You're right—I can never resist a challenge either.” Dax paused, ran her thumb along the edge of the table. “I haven't been sleeping well, either. It's strange, when you're joined. When I'm awake I feel in control, but when I'm sleeping I get seven lifetimes of nightmares. Who knew I was so afraid of being trapped under the ice? Or being taken prisoner by the Romulans?” 

Nerys took another brutal sip of coffee. Dax was so damn honest all the time—didn't she realise that made her vulnerable? “I don't mind the nightmares, so much,” Nerys said after a moment. “It's the waking up I don't like. Being alone.” 

Dax smiled slightly. “Were you in a relationship on Bajor, then? You never said. It is hard to get used to waking up without someone, isn't it?” 

“I wasn't in a relationship.” Nerys heard an edge in her voice. It wasn't really fair, it wasn't Dax's fault she couldn't imagine anything outside her own little world. “I've just never had my own room before. In the camp, I always shared a bed with my father or my brothers, and then when I was in the resistance, my cell and I always slept close. It's safer, and warmer, and often there wasn't much space anyway.” She took another sip of her coffee, waiting for Dax to say something, but Dax was listening. “It's hard to get used to all the silence. My room doesn't smell of anything.” 

“What should it smell like?” 

“Oh—I don't know. Sweat, other people. Wood smoke. Pine needles. Ash. Real things. Instead it smells like replicated air.” 

Dax's hand twitched, as though she was going to reach across the table and touch Nerys. She didn't, and Nerys was surprised to find that she wished Dax had. “Do you want to come and see my comet?” Dax said. 

“ _Your_ comet? It's flying through Bajoran space.” 

It took Dax a second to realise she was joking. Then she smiled. “Come on. It'll be pretty. It had better be pretty, I could be asleep right now.” 

The lab glowed with greenish light from different screens. An experiment ticked gently to itself in one corner. Otherwise the lab was silent and empty. Nerys went to one window and looked at Bajor: bright, greenish, the largest thing in the sky, beneath one arc of the station. The moons were much clearer here than they ever had been from the planet's surface. From this angle, it was hard to work out which was which. 

“You're looking in the wrong direction,” Dax said. She gestured, and Nerys followed her hand. 

“I can only see stars.” 

“Keep looking.” Dax had her PADD out, fingers flicking over the surface. Nerys hated the way everyone else here seemed to be able to use PADDs as though they were an extension of their own hands. She found them clumsy, the screens hard to read. Several Starfleet officers had heard her shouting at one, and she knew they'd joked about it for days. 

She was distracted, her eyes wanting to wander back down to the familiar moons. 

Something chirped on Dax's tricorder. 

“There!” Dax took her hand, cool fingers squeezing Nerys's palm. And Nerys saw it, faint and silvery, coloured blue at the edges. She looked over at Dax: Dax's face was alight, her eyes following the pale line across the sky. 

“It's one of the first of this class we've observed in close range,” Dax was saying. “We're not even sure how they're formed...” 

Nerys tuned out, feeling cool fingers around her palm, listening to a firm voice that could become familiar. Watching an alien delight in distant stars on a space station that had been used to torment so many of her people. 

Nerys wondered how long it had been since she'd curled up on rough ground, sharing a bedroll with a friend. She hadn't realised how much she needed a warm body next to her own until she was on her own. 

She wondered how cool, strange fingers could feel so comforting. 

She suddenly felt very sleepy, raktajino or no raktajino. 

*

That evening, she'd finished meditating and was getting ready to try to sleep again when the door chimed. 

Dax stood at the entrance, a pink bundle clasped to her chest. She looked pale, her spots standing out starkly on her fine skin. “I hope I'm not disturbing you.” 

“You're not. Sit down. Can I get you anything?” 

“No I—I'm not going to stay long.” Dax sat awkwardly, perched at the edge of Nerys's couch. It was a profoundly uncomfortable Cardassian couch, and Nerys couldn't blame anyone for not wanting to settle into it. 

Nerys perched awkwardly beside her. She'd taken her uniform tunic off earlier, and she was suddenly aware of her bare arms. 

“I was thinking about what you said. This morning. About not being able to sleep.” Dax trailed off, plucking uncomfortably at the pink roll. “Well—I brought you this.” 

Nerys took the bundle thrust at her. It was a blanket—an old one, slightly frayed at one corner. On two sides it was edged in a fine material. Silk, perhaps. 

“It was mine when I was a kid,” Dax said in a rush. “I brought it back with me last time I visited Trill. It's silly, it's just it... It smells like home to me. And I know that's not wood smoke and sweat and ash and whatever else you said, but I thought maybe it would be better than nothing.”

Nerys had never seen Dax looking so awkward. She was twisting her fingers around each other, looking down at her lap. Nerys brought a corner of the blanket to her face, and breathed in. It smelt sweet, flowery, but also slightly sharp: a spice or fruit she couldn't name. It also smelt like Dax in a way Nerys couldn't explain, but which was undeniable. 

She put her hand on Dax's leg, ran her fingers in a soothing circle on Dax's thigh. The Starfleet uniform was surprisingly supple under her hand. “Thank you.” Nerys found her voice rough in her throat. “It smells... It does smell good.” 

“Not like the station?”

“Not at all like the station.” 

“I'm glad.” Dax made to stand up. 

“Stay,” Nerys said. “Stay, Dax, please.” She swallowed hard. She took the blanket and shook it out. A faint, spicy scent wafted from it. She threw it over both their legs. Dax put her hand on the blanket, and stayed where she was. She looked into Nerys's face, her lips slightly parted. 

Her expression was so damn _open_. Nerys found she wanted to protect her. That was silly—Dax's needed no one's protection. But the feeling gave Nerys courage to keep talking. 

“Look, I know we don't know each other very well, but in the resistance, when someone had nightmares, we knew just ignoring it wasn't always the best thing to do. Often we'd pray with them, or talk to them. Sometimes we'd sing together. Sometimes the best thing was to sleep close to them at night, to hold their hand.” She found Dax's, and squeezed it. “I miss that.” 

Dax looked down at their hands. Her eyes were damp, and Nerys wondered, for the first time, what living with seven lifetimes of nightmares would really be like. “That sounds nice.” 

“I know it... I know things are different now.” Nerys wasn't sure how she'd ended up here, how she'd come to ask Dax this. But it was too late to back away now—and she didn't want to. “Things are different, but sometimes I think that's stupid. You're my friend, and we can share a bed if you think that'll help you sleep. I think it will help me sleep.” 

Dax put her cool hand against Nerys's warm cheek. “You are... You are so _honest_ , Major,” she said. And then, “Yes. I'd like that. I'd really like that.” 

Nerys smiled, glad to hear another voice in her quarters, glad to feel a friendly hand on her skin. “If you're coming to bed with me, you'd better call me Nerys.”


End file.
